Mudblood: The Reemergence of House Gaunt
by Nerilla
Summary: He had been a freak, a degenerate, and a wretch. He would be damned if he was a mudblood too. Born as someone though known as no one, he would protect himself at all costs and become someone of importance. For Dark or Light? He did not know. (Co-written & Re-written with Septima Holen/AU, Non-BWL, Slytherin HP)
1. Chapter 1

**MUDBLOOD**

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 **He had been a freak, a degenerate, and a wretch. He would be damned if he was a mudblood too. Born as someone though known as no one, he would protect himself at all costs and become someone of importance. For Dark or Light? He did not know. (COWRITTEN &REWRITTEN WITH SEPTIMA HOLEN/ AU, Non-BWL)**

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 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter series belongs to J.K. ROWLING and this particular fan fiction is co-written & rewritten with SEPTIMA HOLEN**

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 **A/N: Originally titled 'Thread of Petals' and posted by my coauthor, SEPTIMA HOLEN, it never managed to develop to our liking. Deleted and rewritten multiple times, we both finally settled on an idea and path we liked. The newly rewritten story is founded upon the original but has key differences – Septima Holen and I also incorporated pieces of our previous works to spice things up (and not waste some of our better pieces of writing). Septima Holen and I have worked together for sometime and I am currently writing the story 'Contracting' that I adopted from Septima Holen and which she beta's on occasion (Check Septima Holen's profile for more details). This particular story is similar in this regard as I will be taking primary authorship of it, as my partner in crime does not have the time to due to various circumstances. (PS – within this story I hope I make it clear that Harry looks like a male version of his mother with his father's eyes – this becomes important later on). Enjoy!**

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 **CHAPTER I – PRE-HOGWARTS**

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 **P** etunia loathed them.

Brown; amber, topaz, bronze, or possibly even golden brown – kindred to the most exquisite of gems and metals and ever so similar to the vile shade of mud. They stared back at her, wide and watery, like a fawn about to be devoured by a big bad wolf. She was the wolf in this instance and the fawn was her nephew, only in blood though – she cared little to nothing for him. Why would she? He was a freak of nature, the devil's spawn, a demented pagan, and a traitor of _normal_ people. He would _never_ be like her or her perfect little family, _ever_. He would only sully them to the sordid, like the degenerate he was – like parent like child, after all. He was infected and… repulsive underneath his infant skin – not human, in her own opinion. She would not under any circumstance _ever_ take such a wretched little runt into her home – she despised that he was even in her presence, making filthy her perfect air.

It was through these unacceptable circumstances that she was scheming what she was scheming now – it really hadn't been too difficult, no difficulty at all, yet it was still a burdensome bother, as was expected of such a wretched child. On one hand she hated the fact that she even had to take time off from _her_ day to do so, yet on the other hand she was quite proud of her plan to rid of the runt forever. No, she wasn't going to murder the boy, that would be a sin and she was no enemy of god, but she was ridding the brat from her life for good. Her husband had all but demanded that the freak be gone by the time he came home from work this evening and she was going to do all in her power to make it so, as a good wife should.

The plan was simple and brilliant at the same time, in her opinion; really, people should appreciate her brilliance more! She digressed though, as she was saying, or thinking in this instance, the plan was simple with the only real aspects being distancing herself from the brat and ensuring their was no way he could be traced back to her or her dearest family. It wouldn't be very difficult either, after all, the boy looked nothing like an Evans, having obviously taken after his grandmother as Lily had.

Curly auburn hair, barely distinguishable from a brunette in the falling dusk, had been a trademark of Petunia's maternal family, the Dagworths. At one time, Petunia had envied its beauty on Lily instead of herself, but now, growing out of this little wretch besides her, she couldn't have been happier – she would never, in a million years, pass as a relative to this child. So different was he to her delicate blond tresses of champagne, her lace blue eyes, her long graceful neck, and all the other attributes that made her an Evans, not a Dagworth. It was fitting too as the Dagworths had been a dastardly lot, a stain on Petunia's lineage. Just like her mother, her sister, and her nephew.

No, the boy was no Evans; the boy must have taken after the Dagworths with exception to the eyes, as the Dagworths had all inherited startling viridian green eyes. In this respect, he must be like his father and would probably grow up to be like that ruffian. As they say, the eyes were the windows into the soul and the soul of _Potter_ was rotten to the core. She just knew it. She had never met her nephew's father, had categorically refused to do so. When her sister had brought the boy over to introduce him to their parents, Petunia had fled to a friend's home. When her sister had married, Petunia had left her widowed mother as the only "Evans" in attendance for her _favorite_ _daughter_ 's wedding. When her sister had given birth, Petunia had burned the announcement letter on her stovetop and threw away the ashes. Petunia had done all she could to rid herself of the magical world – of her sister.

Yet, despite all her efforts, it always came crawling back – haunting her like a wraith.

But this would be the last time.

The plan was working perfectly thus far and she was jubilant to see it through – Harry Potter may have been the son of Lily Potter (the foul woman did not deserve the Evans name), but this unnamed boy was the child of no one. The brat should be grateful, it was better to be the child of no one than that of a freak. He would no longer be Harry Potter; instead, he would be a different boy, one that wouldn't be linked to Harry Potter.

As long as the boy wasn't Harry Potter, she wasn't his aunt and had no responsibilities in regards to him. Thank you very much.

Anyway, she had left her dear little Dudders at the Polkins' for the day while she rid of the rubbish. She had decided on the Shetland Islands, Scotland, for the location – it was perfect because you couldn't get much farther from Surrey County than the Shetland Islands without crossing international borders, which she had no intention of wasting her time or money on for a freak. She already had to waste her time and money on driving all the way north to Scotland and then pay a ferry to the Shetland Islands to rid of the boy, but it would all be worth it in the end. Speaking of the ferry, it was here – she pulled her car into the ferry and made sure to cover the brat in the basket so no one would see him. She was almost free of _it_.

The ferry ride took longer than she would have liked, but short enough that she couldn't complain… except to that one brattish teen that took _forever_ with her ticket. She was here now though and that's what mattered. She impatiently drove off the ferry with the other cars, then off the docks, and now she was driving around a small town, vibrating with anticipation and anxiety to rid of the brat.

She quickly found that she was tiring of searching for a suitable spot and decided just to leave the kid where she was at the moment; luckily it was dark now so no one would notice. She pulled the company car over to the curb, not even stopping the engine – she wasn't staying long. She grabbed the covered basket with the little freak inside, looked around and after deeming the street deserted left the car with the _thing_ in hand. She placed the slumbering brat in the laundry basket near some shop or other; she didn't look to see what the establishment was named, before looking down at the silent basket and sighed.

She kneeled down and lifted the cover gently and peaked inside at her nephew – he was sound asleep, a blessing since he was whimpering and crying all day. A flash of pity struck her, she sighed, 'poor kid', but then shook her head vehemently at the thought, – he wasn't hers. She reached in and secured the printed note on his blanket that simply read:

 ** _JAMES – AGE 1.5_**

She could have put more fake information for the brat or things like that, but why bother? He had a name for himself, after his father no less. He might not have a birth date, but that wasn't her fault – the stupid Hogwarts headmaster hadn't given her one. She guessed his age, which was probably for the best – it would distance him from Harry Potter even more. He had enough for an identity of sorts and she shouldn't really care… anyway, she didn't have to. At least the boy wasn't going to be known as the child of two degenerate freaks, the boy really should be grateful! Maybe he would be adopted by a nice normal couple and gain a surname and live a happy normal life…

All that really mattered, however, was that he wasn't related in anyway to the names of Evans and Dursley.

She shook her head again; she had to get going before someone saw her… as well as get home to her Dudders! It was the first night ever he was without his mummy! She swiftly stood after readjusting the blankets and began to walk away before wondering if the boy would be safe… the freaks had simply left him on her doorstep in the middle of the night before she found him the morning after a chilly November night… she was no freak though! So with renewed determination she looked around, making sure to find a hiding place, and banged on the apartment door next to the shop store the brat was placed near and ran behind an alley wall.

She waited and listened as she heard a door open, shuffling, talking, a gasp, more talking, more shuffling, and then another closed door. She peeked her head out of the alley and sighed with relief when she found the basket and kid gone. She was no freakish woman who left children on doorsteps alone to be exposed to nature and kidnappers, no, she was a normal woman, and that was that. She suddenly gasped at a revelation – if those freaks ever came around looking for him she could just say she never found any child on her doorstep! She could even yell them out for their irresponsibility!

With a pleased smile and a settled feeling from within she made her way back to her car and drove away to the dock and then on to the ferry, but as she was boarding she glanced back at the nice little town and smiled softly and whispered:

"Have a good life." She then turned her head back into the ferry and headed home to Surrey.

She left the Shetland Islands that night as the wife of Vernon Dursley and as the mother of Dudley Dursley. She left the Shetland Islands that night as the parentless, as the brother-less, as the sister-less, and as the nephew-less woman she had become. More importantly, however, she left the Shetland Islands that night as the magic-less woman she always had been.

She never looked back.

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 **A/N: Hello, everyone! Thank you for reading the first chapter of 'Mudblood' – if you haven't read the disclaimer and author's note at the beginning of this chapter please do. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this first chapter and please review if possible, constructive criticism is welcomed and compliments appreciated. Should you find any spelling and or grammatical errors, please review and note where this error is so that I may correct it ASAP. Please PM me with any important questions and I will do my best to get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you again!**


	2. Chapter 2

**MUDBLOOD**

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 **He had been a freak, a degenerate, and a wretch. He would be damned if he was a mudblood too. Born as someone though known as no one, he would protect himself at all costs and become someone of importance. For Dark or Light? He did not know. (COWRITTEN &REWRITTEN WITH SEPTIMA HOLEN/ AU, Non-BWL)**

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 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter series belongs to J.K. ROWLING and this particular fan fiction is co-written & rewritten with SEPTIMA HOLEN – Check author's note at the beginning of chapter I for more details. Enjoy!**

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 **CHAPTER II – FIRST YEAR, PART I**

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To be precise it was the first of the ninth month, the hour was striking half past ten, and in accordance to the date and time a young boy now sat aloof in a lone compartment on the glistening black Hogwarts Express, which was soon to take off through the Scottish highlands towards Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was to be his first year and he was mutely excited, not that one could decipher his anticipation from a simple glance, but then again, few could ever decipher the young misfit that was James Loman.

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 **J** ames sat at the edge of his compartment seat, swinging his gangly legs idly, and peering out the compartment window and gazing at the multitude of parents and their children giving loving kisses and well wishes; the things he had never experienced as an orphan. Not that it bothered him particularly much anymore, maybe it had once upon a time, but that time had long since passed. He refused to dwell on dreams that would not come to fruition, for he knew his parents would not be coming for him, if they were even alive to do so.

He sighed softly, turning his head away from the window full of the view of emotional strangers and their children. He fumbled idly with the bronze buttons of his new Hogwarts robes, succeeding partially in straightening them out so that he looked decent when introducing himself to his new classmates and future co-workers.

He found that the magical world was indeed a very strange place – a very magical place. He didn't know what to think of it all, but he knew he had made the correct decision in coming to Hogwarts, anything was better than being a no name nobody unable to get adopted for the rest of his life because he couldn't control his magic. No, he had no plans to return to such a state of living and saw no reason to go back to the muggle world whatsoever if he was indeed a wizard – didn't that mean he belonged among the magical world, not the muggle one?

He was interrupted from his thoughts by his compartment door sliding open to reveal three boys, two seemed to be much older than himself but the last boy must have been around his own age. Each had their own shock of bright orange hair atop their freckled heads, the two older boys spoke suddenly in unison, surprising James by how perfectly coordinated it was. It was obvious that they were twins, but he had never seen twins such as these – were magical twins different from muggle twins?

"'Ello and good day, firstie, we be wondering if you have some room within your compartment for our little itty brother Ronnikins?" Their voices were exactly the same as well – both of their burnish brown eyes shimmered with mischief in a very taunting way.

"Oh," James looked to the younger boy. Similarly to his elder brothers the boy had a stocky build, which was splattered with a freckle infestation like no other. "I don't mind as there's plenty of room." Nodding in greeting to the youngest of the three, who seemed to unstiffen suddenly – James hadn't even noticed that the boy was stiff to begin with.

"Well, well, well, Ronnikins, it seems that you have someone to occupy your time," the older boys' twin speak was beginning to give James a headache, he pitied the twins' younger brother who probably had to listen to it all the time. "Best be going then, toodle-y-do!" The twins exclaimed, closing the compartment door after nudging their younger counterpart within.

An awkward reticence filled the compartment as the two first years shifted uncomfortably with the sudden need to speak but neither really adept at any kind of conversation, "Hello," James cleared his voice, stood, and offered his hand, "Loman, James Loman, it's a pleasure." He hoped that he had executed a proper wizarding greeting just like the book Professor McGonagall had given him instructed, he didn't want any enemies, especially on the first day.

"Oh, um…" The orange-haired boy wiped his right hand on his faded black robes before taking James', giving it a firm shake, "Weasley, Ronald Weasley, but every one calls me Ron, just Ron." The boy, Weasely – the book said not to address another by their given name unless they were friends - eyed his new Hogwarts robes strangely, making James shift from foot to foot uncomfortably.

"Well… uh, would you like me to help you with your trunk?" He asked, gesturing to the other boy's dented steel one. Weasley nodded quickly, it looked like the speed would hurt his neck, but the boy seemed unharmed by the action. Together they each took a side of the trunk that had surely seen better days before hauling it up to the overhead compartments next to James' simple, but new, leathered trunk.

Both boys sat back down after that, panting a bit at the exertion of lifting the metal contraption full of the boy's belongings – James knew there were feather-light charms for such things but didn't mention it seeing as neither would know how to cast such a charm, let alone any spell at all. James wasn't the fittest boy his age either, while easily as tall as Weasley, he obviously wasn't as stocky with a build more on the gangly side - in fact, Weasley even leaned towards being a bit over weight in comparison.

"James you said your name was?" Weasley asked, making James frown – did the boy think they were friends or maybe he was a muggleborn who hadn't read the etiquette and customs books that were recommended?

"Yeah, Loman, James Loman." Weasley nodded seemingly more comfortable, but both suddenly stiffened when the train made an unanticipated lurch, which began to move them out of the platform. James watched respectfully silent as Weasley got up and waved to his mother and what James assumed was a little sister or cousin. The woman was pleasantly plump with the same ginger hair as her sons, the daughter looked no different from her brothers, just a female version.

When the train finally turned off the platform and the families of the children on board were no longer in sight, Weasley sat back down and tried to begin a proper conversation with James. "So, what House do you think you'll be sorted into, James? I now I'll be heading to Gryffindor myself, my family have been sorted there for centuries! I don't know what I'd do if I was sorted anywhere else – I guess Ravenclaw is alright, but Hufflepuff or bloody _Slytherin_?!"

James was slightly disturbed by the way the boy said Slytherin, as if it was worse than a curse. James had read about the Hogwarts houses from _Hogwarts: A History_ , but he hadn't really thought that one house was any better than another. One was for the clever and ambitious, one for the studious and wise, one for the brave and strong, and one for the kind and hardworking. They all sounded perfectly fine to James, so he didn't see why Weasley would be so against the cunning and ambitious?

"Oh, no, not particularly. I thought they sorted you based on your strongest traits so you end up where you belong and will thrive, so I don't really care where I'm sorted, if I go to the place where I'll do best." Weasley eyed him strangely, but then his gaze suddenly turned pityingly.

"Oh! You must be a muggleborn, aren't you?"

"Well…" James didn't want to experience prejudice from the boy if he revealed his blood status and the pity filled gaze wasn't helping either – anyway, James really didn't know his blood status since he didn't know his origins. Yes, it was most likely that he was muggleborn, but there was still a small chance that he could be one of the many children misplaced during the war – Professor McGongall had mentioned the possibility, telling him that a lot of kids lost their parents, were kidnapped, and or hidden away due to all the pandemonium that the war brought. "My origins aren't really known because of the war, so I could be anything." There, that was a neutral answer that could be inferred as anything, for all Weasley knew he could be a pureblood, half-blood, muggleborn, or even a half-breed. There was really no way to tell, especially from the simple and vague sentence he had given in response.

Weasley nodded knowingly, which was quite ironic seeing as he knew very little. "Oh, yeah, I see. I'm a pureblood myself, not that it really matters. My dad, you see, loves muggle tek-no-leeges, so my family grew up around that kind of stuff unlike most pureblood families." For some reason, James doubted that Weasley knew anything about technology or anything muggle for that matter. "Anyway, do you play quidditch?"

"No." He knew what it was, after reading the books Professor McGonagall gave him, but he had never flown a broom, let alone played a high speed and highly dangerous game on one.

"Oh, pity. What do you do for fun then, my brothers and I always play quidditch – it's really the only fun thing to do at the burrow, my house, though Ginny, my little sister, always goes over to the Lovegoods, but who knows what she does _there_." Again, the boy said 'there' like it was a taboo word or something, but James didn't comment, though he had a feeling that he and the boy wouldn't become friends even though the boy called him by his given name.

"For fun? I guess I like to read, but I didn't really get to do much growing up." And it was true, he barely remembered ever playing for fun as a child. He was either always being punished, bullied, and or trying to avoid the latter two. He guessed that he kind of liked art and music since he enjoyed it in grade school, but he hadn't done it since, so who knows if he'd like it now? Reading was one of the few things he could do without the risk of accidental magic, the solitude of the libraries also helped in that regard.

"Well, that sounds bloody boring," Weasley went on, seemingly completely over his previous awkwardness when he first entered the compartment. "My brothers, the twins, like to do a lot of pranks for fun, me' mum hates it, she thinks everything they do is bollocks and won't get them anywhere. Percy, my other brother, agrees with her, but everybody knows Percy is a bloody brownnoser and a tattletale."

"Percy? How many brothers do you have?" He asked curiously, never really having siblings even though he had grown up with tons of other kids. Most were older than him and those that weren't were only temporary since they would either go back home after a couple months or be adopted. He didn't like any of them anyway; they always thought he was a freak, a liar, and or a troublemaker.

"Five." Weasley said quite grumpily, "I'm the sixth son in the family and the sixth to go to Hogwarts. I got a lot to live up to, seeing as Bill was Head Boy and Charlie was quidditch captain. Percy's a Prefect, too. Sure, George and Fred won't be anything like that, but they're popular and funny and get good marks even though they mess around. Everyone expects me to do just as well, but even if I do it won't really matter because they've already done it. Ginny won't have to worry about that either 'cause she's the first and only girl, she could do anything and still be perfect for me' mum. You don't get anything new either, with five brothers. I got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat."

Weasley reached inside his robe pocket and plopped a rat filled with lard that had seen better days on his compartment seat - it looked to be asleep. James couldn't help but scoot back in his own seat to be further away from the thing, he knew wizards and witches occasionally kept the rodents as pets, but he grew up in the muggle world and rats were just disease invested pests to him. Fortunately, Weasley didn't see his reaction to the pet and went on blabbering, "His name's Scabbers and he's bloody useless, a lazy sod he is, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from me' dad for making Prefect, but they couldn't aff… I mean, I got Scabbers instead…"

Weasley trailed off awkwardly, probably feeling that he said too much, which was true. James had asked how many brother's he had, not his entire life story and all the woes that came with it. Besides, he didn't see why Weasley was so upset by his family's lack of money; James had never had much either and you didn't see him throwing a fit.

"I don't have a pet myself, didn't see a need for one, really. I never had one before and I didn't see why I would need one now." James said, hoping that it would comfort Weasley's seemingly damaged ego. He looked out the window and found that the Hogwarts Express had carried them out of London and on to bright green pastures that were a bit muddy due to the increased rain signalling the coming of autumn. A more comfortable silence enveloped the compartment as the two boys stared out into their lush green surroundings as it all rushed by.

It was only interrupted when their compartment door was slid open with a rattling bang by an elderly woman lumbering down the train hall with a cart full of sweets, it was only then that James realized he hadn't eaten since Professor McGonagall had dropped him off at the platform earlier that morning since he had no way to get to the platform himself from the Shetland Islands. "Hello, dears, anything from the trolley?"

James nodded; grabbing the pouch of money Professor McGonagall had given him from his scholarship vault and walked over to the trolley. It wasn't much, but he had been careful while buying his school supplies and had a good handful of galleons and sickles to spend for food. He found that the trolley was mostly full of magical sweets like Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, and more.

"Is there anything like a sandwich, ma'am?" She looked at him strangely for a moment before her eyes lit up with recognition.

"Oh, the muggle meal with bread and meat?" He nodded, "Sorry, dear, but I don't have such things here, only sweets. If your looking for a meal go three cars down, right by the washroom, and there'll be a little café where you can buy something to eat." She said kindly.

"Oh, thank you very much, Ms…"

"Mrs. Flume, dear." She smiled at him warmly with something akin to grandmotherly affection.

"Thank you, Mrs. Flume. I'll make sure to take your advice, but before you go could I have two Chocolate Frogs, please?" He liked the woman; she seemed to enjoy her profession of selling sweets and was genuinely enjoyable company.

"Of course, dear, are you excited for you first year at Hogwarts?" She asked as she fumbled with her cart looking for the Chocolate Frogs.

"Very excited, did you go to Hogwarts, yourself?" He asked curiously

"Oh, yes. I was a Puff back in the day, now I'm content to run Honeydukes with my husband." She responded before handing him two octagonal blue boxes filled with the sweets he had asked for. "That will be four sickles, Mister…"

He smiled at that, "Loman, James Loman, ma'am. Thank you again and have a nice day." She nodded again, taking his change, before lumbering on her way down the hall. As he closed the compartment door and turned back around he couldn't help but be pleased with the interaction, usually because of his worn clothing and reputation people were weary of him, but with his new Hogwarts uniform and a nice attitude people were actually enjoyable to be around. Who would have thought?

"Hungry, are you?" Weasley spoke up suddenly, eyeing the sweets in his hand with an emotion James couldn't place.

"Yeah, haven't eaten today yet – got up too early and all to get here." Weasley nodded and James placed his sweets on his compartment seat before turning back towards the door, his pouch of money still in hand. "Would you like to come to the café with me?" He didn't really care if Weasley came or not, but it was best to be polite.

"Oh, um, not really. I'm fine thanks, me' mum packed me some corned beef and cabbage." The boy's ears were a bit red again – James didn't know what that meant and chose to simply nod, before opening the compartment, closing it behind him, and heading down the hall towards where Mrs. Flume said the café was.

Three train cars down, he found what he could only describe as a bar like area with little booths full of other children of all ages, some wearing their uniforms, some wearing casual robes, and a few wearing muggle garb. James noticed that the ones wearing muggle clothing were generally ignored by at least half the children in the café area; most of those who were ignoring them were better dressed and in robes. He was suddenly glad that Professor McGonagall had encouraged him to purchase everyday robes and the like for the longer he spent in the magical world the less he wanted people to know that he wasn't originally apart of it.

He weaved his way through the crowded area towards the bar where the food was ordered and served, he found that he had a bit of a wait and took up his time looking at the menu that was displayed above the bar. He was a bit surprised to find that most, if not all the food, were things that one might find at a medieval fair with very little foreign influence and nothing at all that could be considered fast food. As he studied the menu further he found that the wizarding diet diverged slightly from their muggle counterpart's. Peacock Stew, Goat leg and Fluxweed Flakes, Frog Bites and Legumes, Creamed Puffapod Soup, Candied Turnips, Hippogriff Cheese, and Dragon Yolk Bread were just a few of the strange 'delights' offered. It took a lot of internal debate, but by the time James reached the counter he decided what he wanted – he was willing to take a risk.

"Hello, laddy. What can I get for you today?" Asked the young woman behind the counter with… who was well endowed in the chest region.

"May I have a pouch of Candied Turnips and Fluxweed Flakes as well as some Spiced Chicken?" He wasn't brave enough to try any unknown meat or cheese since he knew those could get into dangerous territory.

"Alright, darling. Anything to drink?" She asked, a bit snippy, but he would be snippy to if he had to serve so many kids.

"Oh, um…" He looked up at the menu once more, "A bottle of Gilly Water, please." The woman nodded and within seconds she was sending James towards the booths with his meal in hand. He looked around and found a half filled booth with two slightly older boys who looked to be around the Weasley Twins' age.

"Would you mind if I sat here, if it isn't any trouble?" He asked once he approached the two. Once he had come close enough James realized that one of the boys was actually a girl with a pixie like hair style, she wasn't particularly pretty but she wasn't particularly ugly either with her flaxen brown hair and delicate lavender eyes, which were quite startling to James who had never seen an eye colour so peculiar. He wondered idly if wizards and witches could have different eye colours than muggles or if it was just a charm the girl had cast upon herself.

"Of course, we don't mind the company," the coppery haired boy said with a straight tooth and sparkling smile, "Diggory, Cedric Diggory. Third year Hufflepuff, I assume you're a first year, if I'm not mistaken?" James nodded, "Oh! This is Flint, Quinterus Flint, he's a third year raven." Oh, so it was a boy then.

"Loman, James Loman, a pleasure." He greeted, shaking both of their hands across the booth's little mahogany table.

"The pleasure is all ours, Loman. Welcome to Hogwarts." Flint said with a smile and a far too feminine voice for a male, which is when it clicked for James. Flint was biologically a she, but identified as a he. He had completely forgotten that the books had said that homosexuality and gender fluidity were widely accepted in the magical world due to potions and rituals being created that allowed male pregnancies and gender reassignments (James was still having trouble wrapping his head around the concept that he could apparently create a baby). Then again, Quinterus could be a hermaphrodite if he was a descendant of a nymph or naiad…

Shaking his head to rid of the thought, he chose to address the two boys instead. "Thank you for allowing me to sit with you." He hoped that they hadn't noticed his little start at realizing the violet-eyed boy's possible gender.

"No problem, are you looking forward to Hogwarts, any house in particular?" Flint asked politely, gesturing for him to start eating while Diggory and he returned to their own meals, which was two servings of salmon steak, mash, and pumpkin juice.

James nodded, "Very much, but I don't particularly care which house I'm sorted into as long as I can do my best in it." The more he said that, the more he believed it and it actually was quite comforting to him.

Diggory smiled widely at him, nodding his approval, "That's a good way to think of it." Flint nodded his agreement as well. James smiled happily at their approval, he really did like wizards and witches - he was almost happy… almost. Turning back towards his food he decided he better eat while it was still warm, he pushed his curly, auburn locks out of his face and behind his ear so he didn't end up eating his own hair. As he carefully devoured his meal, with as much decorum as he could muster and obeying as many magical table manners as he could remember, he listened to Diggory and Flint discuss Quidditch strategy and the like – trying to absorb as much colloquial knowledge as he could while doing so.

In no time at all, James found his tray of food empty and bid goodbye to the two third years who had allowed him to sit with them, he made a mental note to repay them for their friendliness at a later date. In minutes he squeezed his way through the crowds of older years making his way back to Weasley and his compartment. He was almost at the compartment when someone of smaller stature to his own and silvery blond hair barrelled into him from behind, he collapsed forward as the blond landed on his back while James' head hit the hall floor with a resounding thud.

" _You_ insufferable _nitwit_! Watch where you're going!" The smaller boy growled into his back while James rubbed his head and tried to shake the other boy off of him.

"Excuse me, but could you please get off." He spoke up after trying, and failing, to get the blond off of him who seemed to not be making much of an effort to detangle himself and rather had taken to fuming about something that was his own fault. The blond finally got off him allowing James to stand up right and brush off non-existent dust from his new robes.

After putting himself back together James peered at the lithe boy, he must be one of the smallest boys in the first year, with eyes of rigid and icy blue that blazed with frustration. From what James could tell the boy was definitely pureblooded if his coloring, size, and sharp facial features were anything to go by – looking at the boy's hand he was proven correct at the sight of a silver heir ring engraved with an opulent 'M'; Heir Malfoy.

Not wanting to speak to the boy, especially in his flustered state, James decided to apologise so he could move on without further confrontation. "My apologies, Heir Malfoy, for the inconvenience. I'll be on my way then." He moved to manoeuvre around the two husky lugs that he had only just noticed but was stopped by the Malfoy heir before he could depart. He inwardly cursed; he did not want to confront the heir of one of the staunchest pureblood Houses with only basic knowledge of wizarding etiquette!

"You're forgiven," The blond started imperiously. "What's your name?" The boy peered at James hand with a frown on his face; obviously realising James was of lower status than himself due to the lack of a familial ring.

"Loman, James Loman." He introduced himself stiffly to the rude little heir, unconsciously standing a bit taller as he stuck out his arm to be shaken. He tried to imbue a formal and high-class quality to his tone, hoping to fake confidence and comfort in a culture that was increasingly foreign to him – Malfoy's head tilted in confusion, he did a double take at James' hand and then roved over James' form, clearly judging his worth. James hadn't been part of this world for long, but he had been going to school for years with wealthy muggle jerks kindred to Malfoy and he knew from experience one cannot allow themselves to be walked over. He needed to channel the confidant pureblood he wasn't.

"My apologies, Loman." The little blond ground out awkwardly, obviously not used to apologising but seemingly finding James worthy of one. "I meant no offence to you, I was… aggravated before I ran into you." James could accept that, somewhat, but felt that even if Malfoy _had_ been in a good mood that the haughty heir would still be insufferable.

"You are forgiven as well, Heir Malfoy." The blond nodded and shook James' hand.

"Ahem, well, yes. As you know I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. This is Crabbe, Vincent Crabbe," Malfoy nodded to his right where the black haired lug stood, "and this is Goyle, Gregory Goyle." Malfoy nodded to his left where the brunet lug stood. James proceeded to shake both boys' hands, discreetly wiping his hand after shaking Goyle's as it was slightly moist (it better have been sweat). The four boys soon parted ways, Malfoy stocking off in a very peacock like fashion while Crabbe and Goyle lumbered ineloquently after him.

Shaking off the nerves from the encounter he continued on his way towards the compartment, idly checking each compartment as he moved along. When he finally reached Weasley and his own, he stopped dead in his tracks at the new boy within, easily recognizable to his well-read eyes.

Neville Longbottom was a stocky boy with wiry arms and legs from what looked to be manual labour; his hands were calloused as well – gardening? The boy, like pictured in the books, had a soft round face like his mother's accompanied by his father's large ears. His shaggy brunette hair was grown out and carefully parted to cover his forehead, supposedly to hide his infamous scar, and his deep sapphire eyes crinkled at the ends when he laughed at something Weasley said.

James hesitated at the opportunity; the boy looked friendly enough not to berate him for even approaching the notorious boy-who-lived but should he interrupt? Should he take the risk? After a minute or so of indecision James gathered up his courage and knocked politely on the compartment, the three tenants, he had only just noticed a bushy haired brunette with somewhat protruding front teeth, looked up to the compartment window and frowned slightly but let him in regardless...

* * *

 **A/N: Hello, everyone! Thank you for reading the second chapter of 'Mudblood' – if you haven't read the disclaimer and author's note at the beginning of chapter I please do. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the second chapter and please review if possible, constructive criticism is welcomed and compliments appreciated. Should you find any spelling and or grammatical errors, please review and note where this error is so that I may correct it ASAP. Please PM me with any important questions and I will do my best to get back to you as soon as possible.**

 **And as for James' surname, well, if any of you out there have ever studied "Death of a Salesman" by Arthur Miller then you should be able to figure it out - for those that have not, James' surname is very much intentional and is very** **significant.**

 **Thank you again!**


	3. Chapter 3

**MUDBLOOD**

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 **He had been a freak, a degenerate, and a wretch. He would be damned if he was a mudblood too. Born as someone though known as no one, he would protect himself at all costs and become someone of importance. For Dark or Light? He did not know. (Co-written & Re-written with Septima Holen/AU, Non-BWL, Slytherin HP)**

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 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter series belongs to J.K. ROWLING and this particular fan fiction is co-written & rewritten with SEPTIMA HOLEN – Check my profile and Septima Holen's profile for more details. Enjoy!**

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 **CHAPTER III**

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 **N** eville clutched the stitch at his side that had developed after laughing at one of many of Ron's jokes – the boy was funny and much more interesting than Neville's usual company of his grandmother and ministry officials. Ron was interrupted in telling some joke about Hogwarts' squid by three firm knocks on the compartment door. Looking through the compartment door window his eyes landed on a tall, lanky boy, already dressed in his school robes, around their age. The boy had curly auburn hair so dark it could easily pass for burnet and flawless skin so pale that only a redhead could manage it. He was classically handsome with a heart shaped face and wide, almond eyes with gold-brown irises; Neville noted with a blush – he had always been self-conscious about his appearance, never feeling like he met the physical expectations of the Boy-Who-Lived. Hermione called the boy in after a few moments of silence.

"Hello" The lanky boy greeted somewhat awkwardly as he entered their compartment. "Um, sorry if I'm intruding but I was sitting in the compartment earlier." Neville blinked in surprise and turned to Ron who took a few too many moments to realize that he was meant to make introductions.

"Oh, um, sorry. Uh, Neville, this is James Loman. James, this is Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger." The ginger explained in a flustered rush after realizing his social blunder.

"Loman, James Lowman, pleased to make your acquaintance." Loman gave Neville's hand a firm shake, which was considerably formal for a schoolboy before he then turned to Hermione and bowed subtlety to her - Hermione awkwardly returned with a bow and Neville winced when Hermione bowed instead of curtseyed. He worried that Loman would take it offensively as an insult or as a poor sign of Neville's own decision making in friends, fortunately, however, Loman only laughed good naturedly.

"Granger, was it?" Hermione nodded. "While men greet one another with a handshake, it is common for a male to bow in greeting to a female. A female is not supposed to bow back but curtsey instead." He corrected softly. "Don't worry too much though, I didn't take offense." Instead of saying thank you though Hermione seemed too preoccupied with being put off that she had done something wrong and didn't know all there was to know about the magical world.

Trying to salvage the situation, Neville awkwardly cleared his throat and asked: "So, Loman, is this to be your first year as well? Are you excited for Hogwarts?"

Smiling awkwardly in turn, Loman responded: "Indeed, this is my first year and I'm very excited to start – though I'm not sure where I'll be sorted. Do you have a preference?"

"Gryffindor, of course." Neville chuckled, where else would the Boy-Who-Lived possibly be sorted? Loman quirked his lips and moved to speak once again, but was interrupted by Ron.

"Why are you here?" Ron exclaimed suddenly and quite aggressively for no real apparent reason, making Neville wince again. When he glanced back at Loman he could see the boy looked horribly uncomfortable and embarrassed.

"Um, well, this is my compartment." The boy gestured to the overhead where two trunks were stored, one of which was assumed to be Loman's.

"Well, we were talking before you came in. I thought you went to the café." Ron blustered, his ears turning redder with every passing moment. Loman looked startled and lost. He looked to Hermione and Neville himself, asking silently for help, but no help came. Neville was unsure why his new friend was acting so strangely towards the Loman boy, but assumed they must have had an earlier argument. After all, it was only moments ago that Draco Malfoy had come in and insulted Ron's family. Hermione, for once, seemed to have decided not to get involved and mind her own business. For all they knew, this Loman character could have been incredibly rude to Ron who seemed like a nice mate once he got pass the fact that Neville was the Boy-Who-Lived.

With no help in sight, Loman shifted awkwardly back towards the compartment door, "Oh, well, I best be going then…" The other boy trailed off before rushing out of the compartment leaving Neville, Hermione, and Ron alone to continue where they had left off, which Ron seemed happy to do. Neville, on the other hand, wanted to groan at how horribly it had all played out by the end of the interactions.

* * *

 **J** ames chose to spend the rest of the train ride in the café area, silently people watching for lack of anything better to do. He wasn't sure exactly why Weasley had blown up on him, but he worried that perhaps he had offended the other boy in some way without realizing it – after all, he didn't know all the social faux pas of the magical world and could have unknowingly committed one of them. Sitting down in one of the many booths, he began to stare out the window wistfully as the Scottish highlands faded into concrete structures and the train slowly decreased in speed and came to a halt. They had arrived at their destination, a magical town by the name of Hogsmead.

The students clamored out of the train with practiced ease, James allowing the crowd to lead him to the exit. Once outside, a giant of a man, who introduced himself as Hagrid, diverted first years to a dozen or so boats. James found himself seated next to a haughty boy by the name of Zacharias Smith and in front of twin girls by the surname Patil. James and the twins didn't speak much, too overwhelmed with nerves – though that didn't stop Smith from bragging about being a descendant of Helga Hufflepuff for the entirety of the ride. It was more than a bit obnoxious.

The boat ride was magnificent if only for the breath stopping view of Hogwarts castle alit in the night, but this too was dampened by Smith's comment about being the technical heir to Hogwarts Castle – "alas, if only the Board of Governors would return the castle to its rightful owners!" James was glad for the boat ride to be over, almost jumping out of the boat in his haste to get away from Smith's infernal monologue.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall." Said Hagrid as he and the first years of 1991 reached the top of the winding staircase from the boat docks.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." Professor McGonagall was a tall and slender Scottish woman around her sixties who was as stiff as a board and as strict as any Goblin worth his gold. The stern and elderly woman led them to the Great Hall and then halted them outside of a pair of large mahogany doors with intricate carvings of magical histories – James could hear the drone of a thousand or so voices beyond the wooden barrier. Professor McGonagall caught his eye for a moment and sent him a small, thin-lipped smile before she began to speak, explaining the House system and touching on the sorting ceremony.

"Welcome to Hogwarts" She began "the start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House's common room.

"The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule breaking will lose your House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours.

"The sorting ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school." James's head whipped around at that, he had no desire to stand in front of the _entire_ school and be judged for his traits. "I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." Professor McGonagall's eyes lingered on a scuffled and jittery boy, Seamus Finnegan, James recalled from introductions earlier, as well as on Ronald Weasley's smudged nose.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," The Professor continued. "Please wait quietly." She then swiftly left the chamber leaving the first years to their devices and overwhelming anxiety.

As they waited for the professor to return some talking broke out, mostly about how the sorting was done and which House students desired to be in and which Houses they would leave Hogwarts for if they were sorted there. James himself wasn't particularly sure which House he wanted to be in or which House he thought he would be sorted in so he remained silent.

He supposed once more that it didn't really matter what he wanted since he was being _sorted_ not making a decision of his own accord and desire, which made sense to a degree since what would happen if everyone always picked the same House? There wouldn't be other Houses would be the probable result and then the tradition would just fade into history. He wondered idly if there had ever been a first year group who had all been sorted into the same House just by chance, but he doubted such an occurrence ever truly came to pass.

He was interrupted from his thought wondering by a high pitch screech on either side of his head that made him flinch back and stumble slightly. As he swirled his head around like an owl in search of the wide spread panic that came over the first years he was met by the sight of twenty or so ghosts, which made his jaw drop comically.

The transparent beings before them were actually quite beautiful in the strangest of ways, like sheets of pearly white ice that seemed too perfect to be real; an illusion of the mind. He didn't register what they were saying but stared at the deceased group with a mixture of curiosity and awe. Mesmerized by their gliding forms and silvery blood stains, how fascinating they must be, yet he was far too stunned to speak or interact with them in any way, and even if he had he would have been interrupted by Professor McGonagall's return.

"Move along now," the Professor's sharp voice tore through the new first year's penetrating silence – the ghosts soon departed upon her command. She turned her head towards the incoming students and gestured to them to line up. "Now form a line and follow me." She commanded – there was no room for any tolerance for disrespect or disobedience in her voice.

James did as he was told without really realizing it, his legs and arms feeling strangely numb as he joined the line of his year mates. He noted idly that he was towards the back of the line in front of a blonde by the name of Hannah Abbott and behind one of the scarily large boys that had been with the Malfoy heir when he had run into him on the train. In a daze he was led into the Great Hall where the stares and whispers merged into some sort of trance as he trotted towards the front of the hall trying to take in the sensory overload he was experiencing.

* * *

 **S** everus had learned many life lessons from his many years both attending and teaching at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and one of those lessons was that children were vile little creatures. He glowered down from the head table at all the vexing children he would be forced by circumstances to educate this year, sneering at the Weasley twins in particular. If those two rodents blew up more than five cauldrons this year he would ensure that they would be miserable until they graduated and were out of his hair.

He sighed for the tenth time that evening as he stared at the empty portions of the four House tables reserved for each group of the soon to be sorted first years – first years that were bound to be interesting and therefore troublesome. Unlike the majority of the staff he preferred boring and usual students instead of the "unique" and "talented" as this incoming first year group was being called – the worse part of it was he knew it was a fact.

The graduating year of 1998 would be the worse year group for him and would probably give him one too many migraines. The graduating year of 1998 was made up of what would be the most influential children of their generation. More than three fourths of the new students were children of high ranking governmental officials, war veterans, heroes, Death Eaters, prodigies, and the like, which would undoubtedly lead to tension in school politics, which would lead to many quarrels and vindictive words.

Even more imperative was the fact that the sheer amount of heirs and heiresses this incoming year would bring and how utter pandemonium would rein due to those heirs and heiresses! Seventeen heirs and heiresses in a single year – seventeen out of thirty seven students! It was unheard of! Unnatural! An omen of the horrors to come!

The Boy-Who-Lived, the Nott boy, his own godson, his godson's betrothed, the Goldstein heir, Greengrass' eldest daughter, Hufflepuff's descendent, the damn annoying Browns' daughter, the head of the DMLE's niece, those disturbingly devout Cornfoots' heir, the German heiress from Berlin, the oafish children of the Dull Duo, Belladonna's first of seven sons with her many deceased husbands, the pompous son of Macmillan, the revoltingly large Bulstrode heiress…

The sudden opening of the Great Hall doors brought him out of his thoughts while the rest of the hall hushed their conversations to instead stare at the first years making their way down the aisle. His own eyes darted about taking each new problematic face in, mesmerizing each one and their reactions so that he could judge them more thoroughly with his occlumency at a later date.

"Abbott, Hannah" A decently pretty girl who was the younger sister of the current Head Boy went to "HUFFLEPUFF!" Severus doubted that the girl was even remotely notable – she'd probably be arranged in marriage to a random Hufflepuff a few years her senior, breed more Hufflepuffs, and then die when her skin resembled raisins. Such is the life of a puff.

"Bones, Susan", the niece of Amelia Bones, the head of the DMLE, and the sole survivor of the Bones Manor Massacre was bound to be interesting… "HUFFLEPUFF!" Or not…

"Boot, Trevor" Severus vaguely believed the boy to be the son of a book store owner – "RAVENCLAW!" Indeed.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" the heiress from Germany marked by her ruby cross pendent, perhaps she would be a snake? – "RAVENCLAW!" Too bad, Severus didn't much like her anyway.

"Brown, Lavender" By the gods that be, how did the Brown family make it through the Blood War?! "GRIFFINDOR!" Severus felt just a bit of bile rise at the back of his throat at the pronouncement.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" Severus didn't care what anyone thought, if an eleven year old had three chins it was child abuse - "SLYTHERIN!" He wondered if he could get away with lacing the girl's food with slimming potions… was that legal? Did he care? No, he didn't…

"Corner, Michael" Severus hoped the boy took after his Healer of a father's lust for books rather than his Death Eater of a mother's lust for blood. "RAVENCLAW!" Small blessings.

"Cornfoot, Stephen" Severus was disturbed by very few things in this cruel world (he regularly dissected flobber worms and rats' tails, after all) but the Cornfoot family had always held a special place in that regard "RAVENCLAW!" Thank the gods, the boy was Flitwick's problem now.

"Crabbe, Vincent" Ah, the Dull Duo's spawn, yet another waste of space in the world "SLYTHERIN!" How, just how? How can that boy possibly be cunning, clever, or ambitious?

"Davis, Tracey" Oh? Howard's illegitimate brat by a muggle whore? "SLYTHERIN!" Hmm… She'll probably be eaten alive by the rest of his snakes. Tis' a pity, the girl had a pretty face.

"Entwhistle, Kevin" Mudblood – the boy reeked of it, you could even see his bright yellow sneakers from the head table. "RAVENCLAW!"

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin" Mudblood, no doubt – its so obvious it hurts. "HUFFLEPUFF!" Hm, he might live to adulthood in that house, but outside of Hogwarts? He'll be eaten alive.

"Finnigan, Seamus" Did that boy have a twitch or was he just that nervous? "GRIFFINDOR!" Nope, it's a twitch. Something was seriously wrong with the boy.

"Goldstein, Anthony" Severus didn't think he had ever seen a more boring specimen. "RAVENCLAW!" How incredibly dull…

"Goyle, Gregory" Please, no. "SLYTHERIN!" _How_?!

"Granger, Hermione" A mudblood, no doubt, and not even a good-looking one at that. "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Greengrass, Daphne" Severus had heard rumors of the Greengrass girl, but they didn't do her justice – the girl could be a full-blooded vela with her looks. "SLYTHERIN!" Hopefully she knew how to use her looks to her advantage, they could get her far if she did.

"Hopkins, Wayne" Mudblood - gods, how many would there be? "RAVENCLAW!"

"Jones, Megan" Perhaps a relation of Hestia Jones? "HUFFLEPUFF!" Pathetic.

"Li, Su" Severus had no idea who she was, nor did he care to learn. "RAVENCLAW!"

"Longbottom, Neville" Ah, the Boy-Who-Lived in all his glory, Severus sneered openly – "GRYFFINDOR!" Severus wasn't quite sure how, but he sneered harder than ever before. He might have sprained something.

"Loman, James" A pretty boy and a goody two-shoes if the boy's perfect posture and straight-laced appearance was anything to go by, but 'Loman' was a muggle name – therefore he was most likely a mudblood. "SLYTHERIN!" Severus raised his eyebrow, a half-blood then?

"Lusine, Leanne" Where are all these little mudbloods coming from? Do muggles breed like rabbits?! "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"MacDougal, Morag" Severus actually gave her a calculated look, the girl had a very intelligent shimmer to her lace-blue eyes, perhaps… "RAVENCLAW" Damn, she would have done well in Slytherin.

"Macmillan, Ernie" Probably the only decent family that was regularly sorted into… "HUFFLEPUFF!" As was to be expected.

"Malfoy, Draco" Really, Draco didn't even need to be sorted. The hat didn't even touch his head before it yelled out "SLYTHERIN!" Was there any doubt?

"Nott, Theodore" The current Lord Nott was someone that Severus actively avoided, rumor has it that he was the Dark lord's very first supporter, the staunchest pureblood fanatic (having published _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy of the British Isles_ ), and supposedly the murderer of his late-wife, a self-made widow. "SLYTHERIN!" The boy was someone to be wary of, but was also promising as a snake.

"Parkinson, Pansy" Why Lucius arranged his son in marriage with a pug? Severus would never know. "SLYTHERIN!" Perhaps the girl was actually a half-breed like the oaf Hagrid – half-pug, perhaps?

"Patil,Padma" The daughter of the Indian ambassador. "RAVENCLAW!" Good.

"Patil, Parvati" The other daughter of the Indian ambassador. "GRYFFINDOR!" Bad.

"Perks, Sally-Anne" Mudblood, mudblood, mudblood. "HUFFLEPUFF!" Mudblood.

"Smith, Zacharias" How is it that the Hufflepuff line continued but the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor lines died out? "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Thomas, Dean" Yet another mudblood. "GRYFFINDOR!" Disgusting.

"Turnip, Lisa" Mudblood. This is getting ridiculous. "RAVENCLAW!"

"Weasley, Ronald" Another Weasley… wonderful. "GRYFFINDOR!" The boy had dirt on his nose; the family had so many children they couldn't even keep them clean, not surprising considering they also happen to live in a hovel.

"Zabini, Blaise" Was he the son of Belladonna's second or third husband? He couldn't quite remember… "SLYTHERIN!" Not surprising, but still worrying – Severus would rather not deal with the next serial killer or Black Widow, as Zabinis had the inclination to be.

As the Headmaster stood and began his welcome greeting, Severus couldn't help but feel that the class of 1998 would bring him an early death by the time they graduated.

* * *

 **J** ames woke to the murky light that filtered through the Black Lake, which wasn't much. Not that he minded, he lived pretty far up north for the majority of his life so he was well adapted to the status quo of a miserable atmosphere. If anything, the dungeons actually amplified the cold and wet in such a way that it almost felt as if he had never left the Shetland Islands at all. Rubbing his heavy lidded eyes, he sat himself up and examined the other boys in the room – all slumbering away, not used to the time schedule of school life seeing as all magical-raised children are homeschooled.

Deciding to take advantage of being the early bird, he padded his way to the loo connected to the dorm, which he had only given a tertiary glance the night before. As he entered he was surprised by the set up, but assumed that it must simply be another cultural divergence between magical and muggle Britain. Similar to all rooms in the Slytherin dungeons, the loo was rectangular in nature and had a distinctly militaristic harshness to it. This bothered James very little, what _did_ bother him was that there were no showers – only a large sunken bath filled with perpetually steamy water. No stalls whatsoever, with exception to the single toilet that had its own tiny room and door sectioning it off from the rest of the room.

Shifting uncomfortably, James made the obvious revelation that wizards and witches bathed together akin to a Roman bathhouse, which wasn't wrong per se – he just simply wasn't used to it. Suddenly thankful for waking before the others, he quickly stripped his night-robes, folded them neatly, and placed them on a mahogany bench in the center of the room before slowly sinking himself into the bath in which the water reached his chest.

Allowing himself to adapt to the temperature, he took his time exploring the bowl of colorful pearls laid next to the bath – scents of myrrh, chamomile, sage, eucalyptus, amber, rosemary, and what James thought to be frankincense wafted from each of the different colored orbs. Taking one of the golden-amber pearls into his hand, he clenched his fist and the soap from within flowed like honey – experimentally he raised it to his hair and began slowly massaging it into his scalp. Unlike muggle soaps, magical soaps didn't seem to bubble or lather, instead liquid seemed to flow through his curly locks like oil – this worried him for a moment, wondering if he would be able to wash it out, but it proved to be an unwarranted concern.

Once done washing he removed himself from the bath as soon as possible, not wanting any of the other boys to see his nude form just yet. Padding across the room with bare, wet feet he approached a rack of fluffy white towels that he was pleasantly surprised to find warm and toasty, most probably kept so by magic. Dried and refreshed, James went about quietly completing the rest of his morning routine, expertly avoiding waking the other boys while dressing. By the time 7'oclock hit, James was donned in his crisp, black uniform with a Slytherin green tie tightly knotted at his throat – he bemoaned the fact that his dark-auburn curls and golden-brown eyes clashed with the emerald green of his robes, but there wasn't much to be done about it.

He began to nervously prepare his satchel for the day's classes, choosing to pack all of his texts just in case as they had yet to receive their schedules – it wasn't like it would hinder him, not with the feather-light and expansion enchantments on the bag. The last thing to be done was carefully strapping his wand to his forearm with a leather wand holster that Professor McGonagall had bought for him as a sort of welcome gift. However, he encountered problems in doing so.

" _Shit_ " he cursed as the holster's belt continued to be uncooperative with him. He had tried unsuccessfully for the last ten minutes to strap the damn thing to his arm, but he couldn't figure out how the straps were meant to overlap.

"Here, allow me," James shot his head up in surprise as he came face to face with the aristocratic features of Nott who had only just woken, apparent from his bed-head of dark-chocolate hair. Silently Nott took the straps and expertly tied them around James' arms, his sage-green eyes lidded heavily with the remnants of sleep as he did so. James blushed at the help, but couldn't refuse the needed aid – he doubted he'd be able to figure out how to put the contraption on himself so he instead focused intently on how the other boy did it so that he wouldn't have to ask for help in the future.

"Thank you," James murmured softly when Nott completed his work, James' wand now firmly in place on his forearm.

"No problem" Nott yawned widely, his low timbre cracking in the morning air. Looking more awake, Nott stared intently at James' wand before asking: "I don't want to be rude, but, out of curiosity, is that an elm wand?" James looked at the other boy startled; the boy could identify the wood of his wand at just a glance?

"Yes, actually. Eleven inches, elm, with a thunderbird feather." Nott seemed surprised by this pronouncement and looked more closely at James' wand, James followed his line of vision and examined his own wand with interest – trying to see what Nott might be thinking about. His wand was simple in nature yet it had a minimalistic elegance to it; a light brown color with geometric carvings at the handle akin to the diamond quilted glass of the Hogwarts windows.

"Sorry to be intrusive, but my mother was a Gregorovitch so wandlore has always interested me." Nott said apologetically and James assumed that this 'Gregorovitch' family must be similar to the Ollivanders. "I assume you got your wand from Ollivander?" James nodded, meeting Nott's eyes with interest as the boy began to elaborate on wandlore. "Most wands tend to have cores of dragon heartstring, unicorn hair, or phoenix feather. It's very unusual for one to posses a wand with a core outside of these creatures, but I suppose the thunderbird is closely related to the phoenix so maybe…" Suddenly the boy cut himself off, shaking his head at his own babbling. "Sorry, but thank you for indulging me. Just to be even, my wand is twelve inches, walnut, with a dragon heartstring at its core."

"No problem, I don't know much about wandlore so it was interesting to hear about it." Nott smiled softly at that, before turning around and preparing himself for the rest of the day. James nodded and turned to head to the Great Hall, but before leaving the dorm he turned back to the other boy getting dressed. "Nott?" The burnet turned to him, nodding at him to continue as he continued getting ready. "Out of curiosity, what does wandlore say about my wand?"

Nott froze, before chuckling. He gave him a sly look before turning back to his trunk, James thought for a moment that he was being ignored but before he left he heard Nott's answer. "The thunderbird feather is solitary in nature, yet powerful – rumor has it wands of this feather can create the most destruction with the fewest spells. It's said that elm wielders are always pureblooded, blessed with dignity and great magical dexterity. They are least likely to make mistakes and are inclined to preform highly advanced magic. However, that is yet to be seen, James _Low_ -Man." James froze at these words, not missing the stress Nott put on his surname – a surname that was not even his own but given to him by the muggle government. Nott didn't just insult his heritage, no, he _challenged_ it – he wanted James to prove himself worthy of this wand, supposedly meant for purebloods alone.

James did not respond, he doubted he was meant to. In silence and with a frown on his face he made his way to have breakfast in the Great Hall alone, thinking about his own place in the House of Salazar. Only yesterday he had thought himself wise to be placed in whichever House that suited him best, but now he was beginning to question the wisdom of such a decision. Had he been sorted into any other House, his blood status would not be put into question, but in Slytherin he was walking on eggshells and it seemed that Nott already doubted his heritage. Slytherin was a place for purebloods, something he could not prove himself to be – at least not yet.

Arriving at the Great Hall, James took a seat and loaded his plate with various wizard breakfast foods as he contemplated his problem. How could he prove himself though? He had no idea what his lineage was… Gazing around the hall, he tried to discern if one could decipher a pureblood from a muggleborn as easily as Nott seemed to be able to… and he was disheartened to realize that it was, indeed, very simple. For one, muggleborn students wore sneakers instead of the leather boots that magical raised children garbed themselves with. Further inspection showed that purebloods had the best posture, ate their food with more precision, and generally clumped together with other purebloods. These were but a few of the differences that James' untrained eyes could spot, who knew how many more differences a pureblood like Nott could spot…

Self consciously, James straightened his posture and slowed his eating, making a conscious effort to imitate the etiquette employed by an older Slytherin nearby him. He was, yet again, glad that he had woken so early that he wouldn't be put under the scrutiny of his housemates – who knows what a fool he made of himself last night at dinner. Frowning once more, James resolved his course of action. Until he could prove himself of magical blood, he would need to play the part and play it well. He would need to lay low for now, learn the ways of pureblood culture before attempting integrate fully in this world. He would have to preform just as well in his classes as his pureblooded counterparts and that would require a studious commitment to his studies…

"Mr. Loman, your schedule." James jumped slightly, having not heard his Head of House approach him from behind. Hesitantly he took the schedule from the man, examining him while doing so. He was not an attractive man by any means, with a large hooked nose, sallow skin, and greasy, limp, black hair. His eyes, his most notable feature, were like tunnels of unending darkness – echoing dislike for anything and everything. He also didn't smell particularly pleasant, the smell of sour pickles and smoke wafted from his high collared black robes.

"Thank you, sir." The man was just as intimidating as he was ugly, so it wouldn't do to be impolite in any way or form. The professor gave him a curt nod before moving on to the other students, passing out their respective schedules. Finishing his breakfast, James stuffed an apple and a pastry into his bag, knowing he would be hungry within the hour as was custom for a growing boy, especially one as tall as he was.

Class didn't start for another hour or so, but James still needed to find his first class, which was Charms. Pulling out his charms textbook as he walked towards the south-end of the castle (as indicated by a Ravenclaw Prefect he had stopped to ask) he flipped through the pages, reviewing what he had read over the summer (roughly half the book as he had very little else to do). Very suddenly, James was overwhelmed with some excitement as he flipped through the first chapter and the various charms it covered – perhaps he would finally be able to use his wand!

At the thought of his wand, he paused in his steps and pulled up his sleeve to examine his wand once more. Tracing a finger over the smooth wood of the point down to the bumps of the geometric carvings, he thought about his early morning exchange with Nott. Elm, for a pureblood… Was he a pureblood? Could he possibly be one? Nott had indicated that it might be a possibility. If he was a pureblood (and able to prove it) it would grant him a lot of privilege and protection for the remainder of his life, but, more than anything, it would tell him his place – where he belonged in the world after so many years of being worse than no-one in the muggle world. It would be almost like a pauper discovering he was actually a prince…

Shaking his head, James rolled his sleeve back up. Dreams of such things were nice, but he had to get to class and begin proving that he was capable of being a pureblood in every way, not just in blood. By the time a half-hour had passed he finally found the lecture hall in which the Charms class was conducted, walking into the room he found that only the diminutive professor was there at his desk. Straightening himself and his uniform, James approached (once again trying to imbue himself with the confidence of a pureblood heir).

"Good morning, sir." He greeted, alerting the professor of his presence. The small man looked up and smiled – revealing to James the man's supposed goblin-lineage as indicated by his angular nose and sharp black eyes – yet, despite his appearance, the man's aura was only full of welcome and good will.

"Good morning, child. Is there something I can help you with." He asked, obviously assuming James to be a lost first year.

"No, sir. I just wanted to introduce myself." Bowing to his elder in respect (deeper than he had to Granger), as was custom, he introduced exactly who he was, "Loman, James Loman, sir. I'm a first year Slytherin and according to my schedule I will be having my first class with you shortly."

"Well aren't you the polite young man!" The excitable professor smiled warmly, "Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Mr. Loman. I am Professor Flitwick, Filius Flitwick. I'm sure it will be a pleasure to have you in the class and I apologize that I cannot participate in a more conductive conversation at the moment, but I must prepare for your class."

"Of course, sir. Thank you for your time, I'll go seat myself then." After giving him one more welcoming smile, Professor Flitwick returned to the paperwork on his desk. James made his way to a middle pew of the stair-step seating of the amphitheater classroom. Over the course of the next half-hour James read through his charms textbook while students began to slowly make their way into the room – it would seem that the class was shared between the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs of his year. The Slytherin students spread themselves out evenly, with exception to Malfoy and his bodyguards who clumped together like the Hufflepuffs – James noted that Nott sat directly behind him, which was… disconcerting.

When the class finally began, James did his best to ignore Nott's presence, instead focusing on his note taking which was difficult enough as it was using parchment and a fountain pen (though he noticed that many students opted for self-refilling ink quills instead). As it would turn out, no magic was done throughout the class nor would any be happening anytime soon as theory was the main focus for the majority of the first quarter. This, however, didn't make the class any less interesting and James absorbed all information about magic like a sponge does water.

After two hours of lecture, a bell rang out to the Symphony of Olaf the Obnoxious (apparently the Headmaster's favorite), indicating the end of the class. Professor Flitwick bid them goodbye and gave them an essay for homework, due two classes from now. James took out his charms notebook and made a note of the assignment and its due date before packing his supplies back into his satchel and making his way to his next class, Herbology.

And so the day went, classes were interesting but entirely theory based for now. Herbology was with the Ravenclaws, which made it much more tolerable than History of Magic with the Gryffindors, which was a class that would require a lot of note taking and reading to make up for the time _nearly_ sleeping (many of the Gryffindors, such as Weasley, actually slept through the class, the very first one!) By the time dinner hit, James was starving, but forced himself to carefully imitate the etiquette and mannerisms of his pureblooded counterparts, something he believed Nott noticed if the knowing smirk he sent his way was anything to go by. Fortunately, none of the other Slytherins gave him any mind.

Tuesday came similarly to Monday, with exception to the fact that Nott awoke the same time as James and bathed with him (highly disconcerting, but James managed to keep a cool head and a calm disposition). Breakfast was also an interesting affair as James was joined by Nott who slowed his mannerisms so that James could study and imitate them with more ease.

Transfiguration soon followed.

James and Nott arrived to an empty Transfiguration classroom and seated themselves silently at a desk and took out their supplies – both noted the cat sitting at the professor's desk, but refrained from pointing out the obvious and assumed that the cat was the professor's familiar. By the time Olaf the Obnoxious' symphony went off, all the Gryffindors had yet to arrived (James only noticed this due to Longbottom and Weasley's absence). Of course, the professor had also yet to arrive…

Suddenly, Longbottom and Weasley burst into the classroom, panting. Weasley looked around erratically before sighing in relief and turning to Longbottom to say, "Oh thank Merlin, McGonagall isn't here yet!" It was at that exact moment the cat jumped off the desk and transformed into Professor McGonagall, causing the entire class to gasp and Weasley to nearly feint.

"I would appreciate, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom, if you would arrive to class on time like the rest of your year mates managed to do. This will be unacceptable conduct from henceforth, should you be late again you will promptly receive a detention with Argus Filch. Am I understood?" Weasley and Longbottom nodded quickly in unison. "Good, now take your seats." While Weasley and Longbottom scrambled for seats McGonagall turned sharply on her heel and began to give her lecture.

By the end of the class they had just begun to practice magic for the very first time, specifically turning a match into a needle – only Nott and Granger managed the feat by the time the symphony went off, but James did manage to sharpen his match to a point. After Transfiguration came Defense Against the Dark Arts (a sorry excuse for a class and would require immense self-study to pass) and astronomy (held in a magical observatory that allowed star-gazing even during daylight hours), and the day finally finished with their very first potions lesson. Potions was held in one of the dungeons in a dark yet clinically sterile room with multiple lab stations, each equipped with a sink and burner.

Nott grasped his wrist suddenly (their first form of physical contact since their first exchange with the wand holster) and led him to the far left of the classroom to a specific station. The station Nott chose was furthest away from the cabinet containing hundreds of jars of potions ingredients and neighbored by only one other lab station as a large pillar separated their station from the majority of the classroom. Nott made quick work in getting out their supplies and James was taken aback by his initiative, but didn't comment – assuming the boy had reason for his peculiar behavior.

The rest of the class was soon seated (Tracey Davis and Blaise Zabini being partnered in the lab station directly behind Nott and James) and began to patiently await their professor. Interestingly, but not unexpectedly, the Slytherins congregated on the left side of the classroom (only partnering with fellow snakes) while the Gryffindors congregated on the right side of the classroom (only partnering with fellow lions). James thought, idly, that it was probably for the best that Weasley and him didn't become friends, as it seemed House rivalry was more pronounced than James anticipated – their friendship would not have persevered said rivalry.

Professor Snape marched into the classroom the very moment the symphony rang out, his robes billowing as he briskly made his way to the front of the classroom, not a second earlier and not a second later. With a sharp turn he faced the classroom, making intense eye contact with each and every student before slowly taking out the role call. It was uneventful until the professor reached the Boy-Who-Lived's name. "Ah, yes," he said softly, "Neville Longbottom. Our new – _celebrity_." Longbottom blushed at the descriptor, but did not rise to the obvious bate by the professor.

The professor finished the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were as black as a starless night sky. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He spoke in barely a whisper, but they caught every word – like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as incompetent as the dunderheads I usually teach." Utter silence followed the professor speech, James barley dared to breath.

"Longbottom!" Professor Snape snapped suddenly, startling everyone (especially Longbottom), "What would I get if I added powered root of asphodel to an infusion of worm wood?"

"I-I d-don't know, sir." Longbottom stuttered, obviously rattled by the sudden address.

The professor's lip suddenly curled downward into a sneer, "Tut, tut – fame clearly isn't everything." Just as suddenly as before the professor whipped his head to another Gryffinor whom James believed to be named Lavender or Lilac, "Ms. Brown, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Shrinking in her desk, Brown timidly told him that she didn't know. The Professor once again turned to yet another Gryffindor, ignoring Granger who was jumping up and down at her own lab station with her hand raised in the air – looking as if she really need to use the loo. "What is the difference, Mr. Finnigan, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Finningan just stared at the man, open mouthed like a dead fish – clearly, he didn't know the answer. Granger's hand quivered in the air all the while. Tutting once more, the professor turned this time to a Slytherin, Malfoy. "Mr. Malfoy, what would I get if I added powered root of asphodel to an infusion of worm wood?"

Puffing out his chest like a peacock in mating season, Malfoy answered: "Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death, Professor." The professor gave him a short nod, indicating the validity of Malfoy's answer.

Suddenly the professor's head whipped to Nott and James' direction, "Mr. Loman, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Startled by the sudden address, James needed Nott to kick his shin to actually get out his answer, "A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons, sir." The professor nodded to this answer as well, before whipping around to face Daphne Greengrass.

"Ms. Greengrass, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"They are the same plant, professor, also known by the name of aconite."

Nodding the professor made his way back to the front of the classroom, pacing in front of the chalkboard as chalk instructions in a web-like scrawl wrote themselves out on the board. "It would seem that bravery and courage isn't everything, either." The intended insult to Gryffinor was not missed by anyone. "Today you will be brewing your first potion in your Hogwarts career. Instructions are written on the board and printed on page 134 of your textbooks. Each student is expected to produce a vial of the Boil Cure potion regardless of whether you work with a partner or not – be warned that your partner's failures are also your own and you will be marked accordingly. Begin."

Nott and James quickly began their task, James allowing Nott to take primary control of the potion brewing while James focused on the ingredient preparation. They worked in compatible silence, even when the professor came by to breath down their neck – a highly disconcerting experience, to say the least. James was forever relieved when he finally left to breath down someone else's neck. It was halfway through the class when it happened – Longbottom's cauldron _exploded_. Protected by the pillar at their side and the lab station (poor Davis and Zabini) behind them, Nott and James were the only student to be left unscathed by the Boil Cure gone wrong (which caused boils, ironically).

"Idiot boy!" The professor snarled, clearing the splattered potion and quickly healing the students splattered with the concoction – Longbottom and Weasley having the worst of it as they had been face to face with their potion. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?" Longbottom only whimpered in response. Whirling on Weasley, the professor snapped: "Weasley! Why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? Ten points from Gryffindor!" Weasley looked ready to explode, ears as red as tomatoes.

James looked at Nott disbelievingly at the professor's behaviour – Nott only shrugged and returned to tending their potion. If this was how every potions class was to be for the next seven years… well, it was going to be a long seven years to say the least. By the end of the class, Nott and James were successfully able to complete the Boil Cure potion, but despite their present success James was wary of the future. To prove himself and make something of himself in the future, he had to do well in potions and if today's class was any indication, such a feat would only be achieved after an up hill battle.

* * *

 **Well, that's it! I hope you guys enjoyed and I appreciate any feedback, including corrections and suggestions, you may have!**


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